“Instead of dilapidated fragments overspread with weeds and choked with brambles, the floor is covered with a smooth turf, which, by keeping the original level of the church, exhibits the beauty of its proportions, heightens the effect of the gray stone, gives a relief to the clustered pillars, and affords an easy access to every part. Ornamented fragments of the roof, remains of cornices and columns, rich pieces of sculpture, sepulchral stones, and mutilated figures of monks and heroes, whose ashes repose within these walls, are scattered on the green sward, and contrast present desolation with former splendour.
“Although the exterior appearance of the ruins is not equal to the inside view, yet in some positions, particularly to the east, they present themselves with considerable effect. While Sir Richard Hoare was employed in sketching the north-western side, I crossed the ferry, and walked down the stream about half a mile. From this point, the ruins, assuming a new character, seem to occupy a gentle eminence, and impend over the river without the intervention of a single cottage to obstruct the view. The grand east window, wholly covered with shrubs, and half mantled with ivy, rises like the portal of a majestic edifice embowered in wood. Through this opening and along the vista of the church, the clusters of ivy, which twine round the pillars or hang suspended from the arches, resemble tufts of trees; while the thick mantle of foliage, seen through the tracery of the west window, forms a continuation of the perspective, and appears like an interminable forest.”
The reputation of Tintern Abbey depends upon no historical associations. The romance of its situation is heightened by no romance of incident. It is simply a part of a picture, and might be entitled in the catalogue of a gallery “an abbey.” The sepulchral remains it holds retain neither name nor date; and one of the most entire of the figures (supposed to be the effigies of the founder of the monastery, which, however, must be looked for at Gloucester, where according to Leland he was buried) is disputed the possession of the usual number of fingers on the right hand; one antiquary, hesitating between four and five, and another according to it, more generously, five fingers—and a thumb! In no part of the country has this means of prolonging fame been more constantly resorted to than in Monmouthshire; but unfortunately, owing to its geographical position as a frontier district, in no part of the country has the object been more frequently defeated. As a solitary instance of this among thousands, we are tempted to quote a fragment which just now catches our eye, from the rhymes of _Churchyarde_ (a most suitable name), and the rather that it exhibits the poet of the “Worthines of Wales” in a more poetical light than usual. He is describing the tombs in the church of Abergavenny; and after noting the arms and other particulars, proceeds—